


To Your Scattered Bodies Go

by papersage



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-07-17
Updated: 2005-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-20 11:44:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/papersage/pseuds/papersage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After The Seige III, Atlantis falls out</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Your Scattered Bodies Go

"To Your Scattered Bodies Go"

 

 **I. Hurt, Comfort**

Beckett is nothing if not a compassionate man, but this time his compassion must be weighted and measured, doled out between harsh, barked out orders with cold sympathies to accompany - because now even a moment of his attention, bereft of any comfort, is a mercy. Nothing is infinite, not even him. Sheppard does not envy him these complexities, especially so soon after things have gone down so violently. He thinks it's a good thing that he gets to be bad when he's bad and good when he's good. His light and his dark never have to mix with each other. Frankly, he's keeping his peas and mashed potatoes on opposite sides of the tray.

Beckett probably would too, if people didn't keep coming in with their internal peas and potatoes and god knows what else mashed and smashed and torn apart. Rodney made the big fuss about getting no sleep, and silently Beckett's got a sleep deficit that might impress McKay. And still, he says with stern, quick efficiency, "Start him on an IV drip, and check his vitals every hour. Tell me if his temperature spikes or his white cell count changes drastically." Even though he's got five other nurses vying for his attention, he stops when a man reaches out for his lab coat and his fingers brush the hem. "There something I can do for you, airman?"

"Give it to me straight, doc," the airman pleads. His face is a big white bandage with holes in it so he can see - like he'd want to - and he's got a good start on being a mummy. Carson picks up the man's chart from the end of the bed.

"Well, Dr. Svetsky worked the case, I can ask him to come over and explain it to you if you'd like," Beckett offers. The soldier shakes his head.

"No. You tell me. Tell me straight. They say you don't lie. Not even to Dr. McKay."

Beckett almost laugh, then tightens his lips, gives the chart another professional scan. Sheppard wonders why this guy. He knows the airman, and doesn't seem to remember him being any special friend of the doctor's. So why this one, why this bandaged disaster that remains of a body, still speaking, why is this the one he turns for? Why is this the one he doesn't foist off onto a nurse?

"Well, the burns on the face are extensive, so there'll be some plastic surgery required - but you're lucky. Because I heard that Dr. Cheng did Cindy Crawford's nose."

"Cindy Crawford had a nose job?"

"Aye, I'm sure he'll do you up the same if you like. Although I don't know if it'll look quite right on you," Beckett replies, straightfacedly.

From where he hides in the shadow of a doorway between the infirmary and a lab, even Sheppard smiles.

"But - the other - am I dying?" he asks.

Carson takes a breath, looks at him like he's about to reveal that Santa's really been daddy all along. Then takes another breath.

"You're up and asking me aren't you?" asks Carson. "You've got a lot of healing to do before you can get out of this bed, son, and thoughts like that aren't helping any."

The airman nods. "Thanks, doc."

Carson nods. "Just rest, and hope Dr. Weir doesn't give the medical staff tomorrow off. I'll have Dr. Svetsky come over and explain what your course of treatment will be."

He nods, turns his head. Carson continues on. He catches Sheppard's eye as he passes into the lab. They watch each other passing by, in slow motion. Sheppard knows. Beckett knows. The guy's dead. The guy was probably dead the minute they scraped him off of the balcony. It's just going to be a few hours until he figures it out. Or doesn't, just flatlines and Beckett will still fight, and still look disappointed and a little surprised when they call it.

Sheppard follows Beckett into the lab, where he's braced over a series of results next to a microscope, looking concentrated. He takes the stool next to Beckett. Beckett's face down in the microscope when he asks, "What's going to happen to Lieutenant Ford?"

Sheppard crosses his arms, thinks, tells him, "Well, we'll track the jumper and get an idea of his location, then we'll try to bring him back to base."

Beckett steps back from the microscope, yet doesn't take his eyes away.

"Major, I realize I'm not a soldier. I'm a bloody terrible shot, and heights scare me, not to mention loud explosions. I'm a doctor, and that puts us on opposite sides of the spectrum, but I think we both know a dead man when we see one."

"What do you want me to tell you, doc? Yes, Lieutenant Ford is gone. Yes, by now he's probably no where near the jumper. He's a smart guy and if he wants to stay gone he will, and I don't think the Wraith are just going turn over their _eau de lifesucking_ so he can go on being superpowerd. If we're lucky, a few months from now we'll be able to identify the remains. You can't tell me you didn't know that."

Beckett winces, quickly, trying to clear his eyes before anyone realizes they're clouded. Again, Sheppard has to ask, why? Why does this bother Beckett above the others. Above the bandaged airmen and the broken bodies that he's seen, some of them even his own medical teams who were caught in the crossfire? Why?

"I just wanted a second opinion, that's all," he says, giving indifference a good but failing shot.

"This wasn't your fault," Sheppard says. "There wasn't anything you could have done."

Beckett pauses. "That's not nearly as comforting as it sounds."

"Well, that's one thing we have in common, doc. We don't do so well with comfort."

Still, Sheppard puts his hand tightly over Beckett's shoulder, squeezes, smiles, and leaves.

 

 

 **II. Close Friends**

Not that she went looking for him, but when Weir crossed the control room, she couldn't help seeing him there - in the middle of emptiness.

Rodney staring at the gate.

At first she thought he might have been taking readings or doing something scientific and it struck her that now was a particularly funny time for Rodney to start delving into research. Especially when the Athosians had laid out the extent of their culinary specialties to celebrate the Atlantean victory. To give thanks to the Ancestors. To bolster the people who had been the first to ever make the Wraith turn away. Weir had seen it, and it had been beautiful.

When the wounded who could eat and the soldiers who could be spared and the weary scientists and the doctors who had *finally* been released to eat before they passed out came into the mess, the Athosians applauded and bowed their heads as the men went by them. They ate bread and soup and sweet cakes and balls of sugared rice that smelled good enough to make even Elizabeth sit for a moment with a few of the doctors and enjoy a bite.

She'd looked for Rodney then, but didn't see him.

She assumed that he'd forgone the sandwich and headed straight on to bed.

Only to find him here, now, alone - neither sleeping nor eating. For Rodney, this is an alarming development.

Elizabeth jogs down the stairs and stops when she's standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

"It's possible to create an event horizon without actually having a wormhole," Rodney tells her, eyes fixed. "You see, the energy used to imprint ones and zeros on crystals is completely unimportant after the imprint is done. I didn't think it was possible, at first. And as usual, I was completely wrong."

Elizabeth smiles. "For someone who's usually wrong, you sure do save the day quite a bit."

Rodney smiles back. "Oh, of course. That was self-deprecating humor. I'm told it helps people feel more comfortable with my overwhelming intellect. Still, I was wrong. I assumed that the energy has to be there in order for the patterns to exist. And now I can't remember why. I'm sure I had a perfectly logical reason, but Sam, she was right. She knew better. I can see why now. I understand her as an artist now. As an artist, she's Michaelangelo and I'm just some guy fingerpainting on a cave wall in France. She understands angles, dimensions - things that didn't cross my mind at the time. The idea that completely non-scientific factors can make everything different."

Weir furrows her brow, and isn't exactly sure why all this talk of Sam Carter makes her want to change the subject. She senses something under the calm surface of Rodney's voice that tells her that she's stumbled onto a mess.

"I'm sure there's still some sweet cakes left if you want them," Weir offers, hoping that maybe she can lure him away from this place. "You should be celebrating. After all, this is as much your victory as anyone else's. Take a break from the science."

Rodney looks over at her, his mouth in that turned down line that means desperation.

"I thought if I could recreate the event horizon, that we could track him. You see, it wasn't that I was wrong about the energy imprints, it was that I wasn't willing to go far enough. Sam was. She was willing to say that Teal'c was still there, that Teal'c wasn't lost. She was willing to find a way for it to be true. I want to pull him back, Elizabeth, but I can't find that way. I'm not that kind of an artist yet. Just an over glorified nerd with a laptop and a few crazy schemes that he's sure won't fail."

Weir gives him a sideways look. "More self-deprecating humor?"

"No. That's the truth." Rodney takes a breath, his eyes fall to the floor. "I keep trying to find him, Elizabeth. I keep forgetting. My cat Moon did that, when my other cat Spew died."

"You named your cat Spew?"

"Well, it was that or 'Goddammit', and that seemed to offend the neighbors," Rodney comments, dryly. "But when Spew died, Moon just kept right on looking for him. Kept sniffing around the litter box, the bowls. They say you have to show them the body, or they'll never stop looking. But I don't know what's worse, never knowing, or knowing for sure. I don't want to see a body, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth quietly slides her hand into Rodney's. His eyes shine just a little.

"We'll find him, Rodney. Ford is strong, he'll survive. And when we do find him, I'm sure Dr. Beckett can find a way to treat him."

Rodney just nods. "Of course."

"I know that's not much of a consolation."

Rodney tries to laugh, doesn't quite make it. Falls like a skater with bad footing on a jump, falls right back into sorrow. "Look at me, like I'm next of kin or something. We weren't - I mean - we weren't close. Were we? I mean we were on the same team, and I liked him. He was a good guy. But were we close? Am I allowed to feel bad about this?"

"He would have felt the same for you."

"Does that make us close?"

"That's for you to decide."

Rodney squeezes her hand. "Am I close to anybody, Elizabeth?"

And she answers, "Me."

Rodney wonders if she means in proximity or in the way he meant.

 

 

 **III. The Baffled King Composing Hallelujahs**

He is sitting alone, near the front.

Apologetically, Teyla calls to him, "I'm sorry. I did not mean to interrupt your worship."

The chapel is devoid of religious icons, because there are several religions among the Atlantis crew, but the room is marked as a chapel and there are service schedules for the different faiths among the crew posted outside. They do not interfere with each other thus far. When she entered, Teyla counted on ritual meetings being suspended for a bit while the clean up of Atlantis was underway.

Yet, there is Dr. Zelenka. He must have some great faith, to come all by himself. She smiles.

"It is all right. I was not worshiping," he replies. "I came for the quiet."

Teyla nods. "The city has been chaotic. I can return later."

Zelenka turns, straightens his glasses, tucks back his perpetually wild, thinning hair. "Oh, no. It's rude of me. I can go."

He gets up to leave and Teyla nods, makes her way to the large plain box which is the altar upon which sometimes crosses, sometimes candles, sometimes books are placed. She puts candles and incense, spreads out a mat. At the door, Zelenka turns and says, "I am sorry about Lieutenant Ford. I know he was one of your team."

Teyla nods her head in polite acknowledgment. "Thank you, doctor."

He looks down, seems to think better of something, "Can I stay? Or will that disturb you?"

"No, doctor, it will not bother me at all."

He takes his seat again and watches, his head laid on his arms which rest on the back of the chair in front of him. He studies her with a sleepy voyeurism, fascinated at her faith. She beacons to the Ancestors, with supplicating, graceful arms and beautiful motions. Her neck, her shoulders become soft curves as her head dips below the horizon of her body when she prays.

He finds her belief fascinating. He remembers the last time he believed in any religion. He was a tiny boy wearing white gloves on a train to see his grandmother, a train that raced across miles to carry him into Prague before she passed, and she died before they got there. He was told it was God's mercy. That he did not have to see her so sick, that all of his memories would be of her fat and happy in the kitchen, giving him sweet things that his mother would scold her for.

But Radek's grandfather, with withered, aged spotted hands crouched down on arthritic knees and told him that it was not so. That it was not God. Or even mercy. It was a train that left at two instead of twelve, and a woman who's heart ran out and there had been no God involved. He told Radek that she was gone, and Radek started to cry, but believed him absolutely. No cruel thing could ever be a lie. Lies were kindly, told when warm arms wrapped around you, saying the things you wished were true. And from then on believed that all true things were harsh. That truth must hurt to a degree. That all comfort is a lie.

He asked his mother if he could stop going to church. She fought him on the matter until he was fifteen, and finally she gave up. She put on a nice dress and went, while Radek stayed home and worked on studies. When Teyla is finished and gathers her still smoldering candles, he asks, "I do not mean to be rude when I ask this, but how do you still believe?"

Teyla turns, gives him a funny look. "I do not understand the question, doctor."

"Everything that we have told you about the Ancients. That they were only people, that they were nearly exterminated by the Wraith. Does it not make you doubt?"

Teyla cocks her head. "No. Why should it?"

"You believe the Ancients are divine, no? That they listen to you from above?" Radek points to the ceiling.

"Yes. But everything you have told us about the Ancestors was already known to us. If you explain to us how they did the things they did, it makes them even more miraculous, not less. Is that the way on Earth, doctor? Are your people disheartened by explanations?"

Radek ponders this. "God is the explanation. To have any other is to say that God is not real."

Teyla frowns. "To explain the Ancestors is not to replace them. Did the Ancestors not protect us?"

He shakes his head. "I do not believe that. They are gone, Teyla. They could not."

"But have they not? Were not the shields and the cloaking technology theirs? Was not the ZPM theirs?"

"But so many died."

She lays her things down and pads with silent steps until she sits in the chair next to him. "They are with the Ancestors now."

"They are dead now," he counters, in a voice filled with such quiet rage that it snaps Teyla back.

"Yes," she agrees. "We fought the Wraith, head on. There was no way to prevent loss of life without surrendering the city."

"Then it was our fault, no? We did not listen to the will of the Ancients. We did not heed them, and the insolence was punished?"

Teyla shakes her head. "No. We listened well. We are safe for the moment. There was no way to turn the Wraith back without blood. But I believe that those who died, if given the choice, would do so again and again, knowing that their deaths would save us. Are impossible things required for people of your world to have faith?"

"Yes."

"This makes no sense to me, doctor. If something is done, does that not make it possible? Even if it is not something you yourself can do."

"I do not know. I am very tired man in church because it is quiet and I cannot sleep. I see them when my eyes are closed."

He begins to quiver. Teyla frowns compassionately, and embraces him, so quickly that he can do nothing but accept it as reality, as truth.

"Do you think that believing in something impossible will ease your fear?"

Zelenka presses his face into her soft-skinned shoulder, and wonders what wonderful lie she will tell to unbind him, to let him sleep. "I believe nothing else has."

She says nothing at all in response until he realizes she isn't going to. She is merely going to embrace him and let him do what he must. And he wonders what it means when even comfort is a little bit painful.

 

 

 

 **IV. Polyphemus After Dark**

He sleeps in fits and starts, under unknown alien stars. All but his enzymes and pack has been deserted, across seven or eight planets. Nine, including Atlantis. He left the puddle jumper two planets back, but didn't have the heart or the courage to abandon it before then.

Buried under crunchy leaves, he convulses, twitches, muscles contract and pound. He rolls over feels a root digging into his back. Tries to force himself back down into sleep. Wants to keep his eye closed, doesn't want to give himself up to consciousness. Not just yet. He thinks there may be sleep left in him. Nevertheless, there's a nine millimeter laying on his stomach in case sleep goes farther than he can chase.

In the darkness, he notices finally that his left eye can perceive things a little better. He keeps a solid black eye wide open to a solid black world. And when sleep finally warms to him, starts to melt in his hand like chocolate, he thinks that he'll make this whole night through. Sleep comes as water works it's way in a smooth wave towards the city.

Only to slap him with visceral shock and memory.

Falling falling into the water, going down looking into it's eyes. The slap of water, and the vicious cold that stole his breath. Fighting it even then, unable to lose the damn thing. The deep down dark of the water, light sliding into nothingness beneath his eyes. The only solid thing the Wraith, too disgusting to touch even as he drowned.

Aiden turns over again, keeps his hand right on his nine mil. The safety is off. He tells himself to not dare open his eyes, not to dare listen for anyone coming. Let them come, let them be afraid. Let them see if he won't shoot.

Memory chases him to the places sleep won't follow.

The fear in Sheppard's voice, the panic under layers of military training and desperate forced calm. John. Afraid of him. John. Repulsed by him. Aiden wept the minute he saw the event horizon dissolve behind him like blue cotton candy in the rain. Let the jumper land itself and he hurled himself around the back of it, throwing supplies, things, coming to rest with his head on the lap of the pilot's seat - crying as a lost man, a sick child.

Screaming. Clawing.

He slept better then, and cried with only one eye.

Now, neither will give him that. One stays closed and blind and stinging sore. The other hasn't closed yet, and may never.

 

 

 **V. Under the Rug Swept**

They feel the weight of his absence. Zelenka and McKay man the laptop between them, and have been speaking over each other since Sheppard walked in and asked how their morning had been. Beckett sits quietly, waits for Dr. Weir. Teyla smiles in Zelenka's direction, making Rodney ask questions.

When Weir walks in, it become just that much more obvious. And she gives them the moment. The moment to see who's missing, to get their feet wet in this new water. But only a moment, before pushing them on.

"Let's get started," she says with quiet respect, scooting her chair to the table. "Rodney, what's the status of the city."

"Well, it's still here and still above water, and still habitable," Rodney answers, with a tired long breath and they know what it means. Miles to go.

"Amen to that," Sheppard comments.

"Aye," Beckett agrees. "Amen."

Teyla, hands clasped together on the table says in the silence that follows, "It was more than we would have said but a few hours ago. Whatever has come to pass, I take comfort in that fact."

"As do we all," Weir agrees. "But there fact remains that there's been damage."

Zelenka merely shrugs. "Yes, but there is always some damage. And we remain."


End file.
